“You suddenly need eight suits?”
“I own more than one shirt too.”
“This is charity disguised as an order.”
“No.
Charity does not require me to stand on a pedestal while you stab me.”
“You moved.”
“You fell.”
“You distracted me.”
“You answered the question.”
Paulie coughed into his fist.
Lyra studied the order again.
At her standard price, the required deposit would cover the missed loan payments with enough left to repair the radiator.
The remaining installments would give her four months of predictable work.
It was not a gift.
She would earn every dollar.
Still, she looked for the trap.
“No rush fees,” she said.
“Fine.”
“No cash.”
Noah frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I am not explaining a suitcase of money to an auditor.”
“A company check, then.”
“From a legitimate company.”
Paulie looked fascinated by the ceiling.
Noah’s voice cooled.
“All of my companies are legitimate on paper.”
Lyra stared at him.
He exhaled.
“From Moretti Property Management.
The account has existed for eleven years.
Taxes are current.”
“I will verify that.”
“I assumed you would.”
“And the deposit is exactly fifty percent.
Not one dollar more.”
“You negotiate like a hostage lawyer.”
“I negotiate like a woman who just found her name on a building she did not buy.”
That silenced him.
Lyra took a pen from behind her ear and wrote the total on the order sheet.
Then she turned it around.
“Sign.”
Noah picked up the pen.
Before he touched it to the paper, she covered the signature line with one finger.
“One more condition.”
His eyes lifted.
“What?”
“No questions about my private life during business hours.”
His mouth hardened.
“No commands about who I may see.”
He said nothing.
“And no investigating me unless I specifically ask for help.”
“That one may be difficult.”
“Then find another tailor.”
The two of them stared at each other across her father’s cutting table.
Noah Moretti had built his reputation on making other people break first.
